


Movement in Still Life

by madame_d



Category: NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: M/M, POV Second Person, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-07
Updated: 2003-12-07
Packaged: 2017-10-19 01:11:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madame_d/pseuds/madame_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's snuggling.  And sarcastic Lance.  And 2nd person POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Movement in Still Life

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to Caedn for the beta, and her and [shadesofbrixton](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shadesofbrixton) for the ideas and patience, both of which I was sadly lacking. Apologies to BT for the shameless theft of his brilliant album and song title.

You used to think that there should be a switch for love so that when you got tired of it, of feeling unwanted, when it got too much because the nagging pinch of unrequited lust was returned only in the form of friendly affection, you could just flip the switch and bam! You're not in love anymore.

Then, when you would think of his pretty face with its amused blue eyes, his easy smile and the soft curls and smooth, golden, hard stomach, your pulse would not race as if attempting to give you a heart attack and your blood would not pound in your head, scaring you with thoughts of aneurysms. And when you would stare at his mouth as he talked, you would not be thinking about better uses for his perfectly shaped lips, and your mind would calmly think, "Friend. Co-worker. No object of love and lust here." And then you would finally be able to stop fucking guys who look nothing like him; are, in fact, the exact opposite, physically, of him.

There was a time when you were weak and there was only one way to exorcise your demons. Then, the boys either looked like him, or had the same name, because you were not strong enough to call them 'baby' or 'honey,' and you needed to say his name. Or maybe you just couldn't bother enough to not cry out the wrong name with them. You did not care beyond the orgasm, anyway.

But all that was before you realised that he might have been making a point by demonstrating his heterosexuality. Over and over and over again, through an endless parade of stunning women. You used to think it a bit freaky and maybe a little sick that all of them, except for one, were much older than him. Combined with the tattoo on his back, proudly declaring his mother's initials, you thought he was a prime subject for Freudian issues. You never told him any of that.

You used to cry and sigh and rant self-deprecatingly at the utter pathos of your situation, the self-pity, the sappiness of it all; cheap dime-novel emotions bubbling inside. Joey would have called you a chick had he known.

With time, you learnt how to deal. You learnt to enjoy the gorgeous one-night stands and their short-lived affections, the pleasure of pursuit, the moment when your eyes would meet and you'd know, in that instant, that he was yours. You learnt to distance yourself from your juvenile crush, and enjoy life. The Justin-hobby was pushed back, and you were finally free.

On the outside, however, nothing has changed. You are still his friend, though not a particularly close one because that position is filled with Chris and JC. But you are close enough to serve as a pillow when he wakes up to find you on the three-man bus, when JC chooses to ride with Joey and catch up on sleep. (Or so he says. You never comment that he looks even less rested afterwards.)

Like now, when Justin shuffles over to the front of the bus from his bunk, stopping when he sees you on the couch, reading a book. He is wearing plaid flannel pyjama pants, and a loose t-shirt last seen on Chris. He keeps blinking slowly, and looks about ten, at most, which makes you a very bad man indeed, because you think he's the cutest thing ever. He is not quite awake yet and wobbles before coming over and snuggling up, ignoring the fact that he jars your elbow, interfering with your reading. He rubs his head on your upper arm until you lift it up and over his shoulder, cuddling him close, his head on your shoulder, his arms over your belly and around your back, holding you tight. He wiggles a bit, attempting to get comfortable. It's affectionate, but not sexual. He snuffles into your neck and goes back to sleep; you can tell by his even breathing. He is sleep-warmed and heavy but he doesn't squirm anymore and you can go back to your book, if you were so inclined. You aren't. You watch him sleep, and feel idiotic for doing it, and refuse to acknowledge a wave of tenderness towards him that threatens to spill over. You are mostly over him, but first loves tend to be hardy and difficult to get rid of completely. You discovered that the hard way.

You don't notice when you fall asleep but when you wake up, your book is on the floor, you are flat on your back on the couch, and Justin is wrapped around you like a friendly octopus; your limbs are so tangled it is hard to say which arm is whose. You know at least one of them is yours because it's fallen asleep. You briefly wonder how to extract it without waking Justin but quickly decide that it's impossible and instead, shift to renew the circulation. Justin's eyes flutter open, and he looks up at you from his position on your chest.

"We should do this more often," you murmur, and he pushes himself up so that he is hovering over you, propped on his forearms, looking down at your face.

"Do what? Snuggle or share a bus?" Only his torso is elevated; the rest of his body is sprawled bonelessly on yours.

"Snuggle, of course. You rock my body, Timberlake." You raise an eyebrow as you jokingly arch your hips into his. You hope that neither one of you has a morning erection to make things uncomfortable. Neither of you does.

He lets himself slump back onto your chest. "I love you too, Lance."

You frown. "Since when do you profess love to random men? And why is there a 'too' in there?"

Justin grunts and pushes himself up again, eyelids fluttering closed a few times before he manages to peel his eyes open. "You are not a random man, yo. I've known you since I was, like, fourteen. And C tells me I shouldn't say things like that lightly, so I don't any more."

"Justin, you tell Chris and JC that you love them all the time," you point out. You want to sound calm and reasonable, but you are sure Justin can feel the underlying growl rumbling in your chest. "You do not, however, tell **me** that you love me. Ever."

Justin slumps back down again, sighing like he does when dealing with a particularly difficult (and stupid) record company employee. "You love me; I love you. It's okay."

"Oka-? I **love** you. The non-brotherly-love version. The love that makes me lust after you in a very George Michael I-want-your-sex way. In a 'I want to fuck you till you can't stand' way. Is that okay **now**?" You really did not mean to say any of that but now that the words are out, you refuse to regret them. He might as well know.

He doesn't answer. Instead, he reaches down and roughly grabs your crotch, a bit (a lot) harder than would have been sexy. He grinds his palm downward and says with a sweet but too-toothy smile, in a calm voice, "In two hours, when we get to the hotel, we will go to the same room and fuck like bunnies 'til neither one of us can walk. It can be our excuse for the day off tomorrow. That okay with you?"

Feeling it is only fair to do some grabbing of your own, you reach down as well, but your hold is just right. You rub until Justin squirms in your grasp, and you smirk. "It's perfectly all right with me," you reply and then take your hand away.

Justin, predictably, immediately starts whining. "Lance, come ON! Finish what you started; you can't just stop!"

You want to point out that it was his choice to wait until you reach the hotel. You want to tell him that Chris is in his bunk, and can probably hear everything that is not a whisper, and he does not deserve the disrespect of listening to his two bandmates fuck. Instead, you lean up and kiss him, gently at first, hungrily when your kiss is returned with fervour. Justin matches you lick for lick and bite for bite, rocking his hips against yours, and when you tear your mouth away for a much-needed breath, he bites into your t-shirt, his forehead tucked under your chin, and comes. You stifle a laugh, not wanting to humiliate him further if he is embarrassed, but when he lifts his head, he is smiling, and blushing, and licking his lips.

"Can you be quiet?" You don't quite process what it is that he is asking until he slithers down your body. Your mind catches up just in time. And oh yes, you can. Before your brain shuts down, you think of wondering how, when so intent on proving his heterosexuality, he had learnt to suck dick with such gusto and not a small amount of skill but then, you think of gift horses and mouths, and more about the latter than the former, and then you don't think at all.

When Justin crawls back up, he looks almost bashful. You are full of questions, so you kiss him instead, licking into his mouth when he tries to pull away. He strokes your sides as you kiss; then, when the kiss is over, he hides his face in your shoulder, panting and attempting to regain his breath.

You don't dare take a shower together, so you do it separately, donning fresh clothes and returning to the lounge. By the time Chris comes out, both of you are decent again. You sit in the corner of the couch reading your book. Justin is lying on the couch with his head on your thigh, reading a magazine. Chris catches your eye and winks, and you know there is no chance in hell that he is fooled. He walks past the couch on the way to the kitchenette, mouthing "cute" at you and poking Justin in the stomach. When he's got Justin's attention, Chris tells him, "I am getting my own bus."

You watch Justin turn a few interesting shades of pink, and you listen to Chris' gleeful (evil) laughter, and you turn the switch to 'on.'


End file.
